When Words Fail
by Annie Blythe
Summary: There are two things every good cop needs: Capable hands and a pure heart. She admires his hands; he admires her heart. Post 2x13. NOW A TWOSHOT.
1. Chapter 1

**There seem to be a number of "first" fan fictions inspired by Rookie Blue, and this story is no exception. Here it is: My audition. Reviews would be helpful and very much appreciated! **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, except bewildering levels of concern for fictional characters.**

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><p>It had started off innocently enough; she analyzed his movements because he was, after all, her training officer and partner. Looking back, she is not sure where it began. How many times had she studied the contours of his hands? The way he gripped the wheel when he drove, the way he carelessly flipped his phone open before he barked into the speaker, the way he swirled his beer bottle that night at the Alpine…<p>

Sometimes his hands were a silent entreaty, on which their safety rested. He would signal noiselessly, and she knew to remain quiet, or to move in on a suspect from the right or left side. More than once, his hands steered her to safety, quickly moving her behind the squad car doors when shots were fired, or guiding her over the rubble where a laundry mat once stood. Hell, his hands had instinctively shot forward to prevent a shower of cans from blocking her path as they pursued "Blue Guy" in that supermarket. He knew when to goad with those hands, helping her release whatever pent-up anger, frustration, or disappointment lingered in the wake of Luke's infidelity. But for every hard punch he threw, he followed with a playful tap, and she was reminded of just how patient those hands could be.

There had been brief moments when passion overruled coherent thought, and the hot touch of his hand seared her – First, the night of the blackout, and then their brief undercover stint as Gabe and Edie. As meaningful as those moments were, they were born of something else entirely – of a desire to comfort and be comforted, and of an oath to serve and protect. Logically, she could explain both away... Or she thought she could, anyway.

As much as she tried to convince herself that he merely "had her back," as any partner would, she knew that his hands went above and beyond the call of duty. She suspected it on the mornings when she found him, clutching two hot coffees, lazily resting against the cruiser door. She was almost certain the night he gingerly wrapped her leg, after hours of chasing an escaped prisoner through the wooded – and in Sam's eyes, maddening – forest. But she knew – she _knew_ – the day she had been shot, that his hands conveyed more than traditional concern for one's partner. And when he pulled her behind the medic truck and gripped her arms, then her neck, and finally her cheek… She knew that he meant more, and she felt more.

On the first day they rode together, he had uttered the words, "I am not your boyfriend, and I will not be holding your hand." He was right on both counts. But weeks later, as she stood shaking and reeling in front of a man with three bullet holes in his chest, she felt the familiar weight of his hand on her shoulder. She didn't have the presence of mind to recognize the sentiment, but in the weeks afterward, she would remember. He too recalled the pain of taking someone's life for the first time. The ending was tragic, but the act was necessary and unavoidable. Like him, she would have to forgive herself, and like him, it would take time.

He didn't hold her hand that day. Instead, he used his hands to hold a trembling, whimpering young girl to his chest. He could only hold Andy's gaze, repeating firmly but gently, "It's okay. It's okay."

It was as much for her sake as it was for the terrified little girl.

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><p>It was different now, months later. His hands were free to say all that his words could not.<p>

Outside the Alpine, his hand fell onto her shoulder again, but this time, the movement was not purely sympathetic. Different words followed – it wasn't _okay_; they were foolish to think anything about this current situation was okay – and yet, she trusted him implicitly. The sudden weight of his hand didn't startle her as a stranger's might; rather, it burned with familiarity and prompted her heart to beat rapidly.

His mouth, ever the defector, instructed easily: "Let's go." He wanted to add, "_Away from here, away from me, away for now_," but when her face lifted eagerly, he couldn't form the words. It wasn't until they reached his apartment, and she tugged off her coat, that his brain reacted. In a moment of clarity, he reached for her jacket : It was his anchor to reality, as the rest of his logic slipped away.

Sam – capable, rational, stalwart, master-of-emotion Swarek – _could_ prevent his hands from wandering, as long as he clenched the puffy fabric. He could call her a cab, he _would_ call her a cab; he would do anything to stop the magnetic pull that linked his hands with her body. Tonight in the bar had been enough of a test. He had resisted touching her, moving his hand to his own face when the temptation proved too great. The last thing he wanted to do was establish a connection with Andy – or Candace – in front of Brennan. Here, in the silence of his dark apartment, the temptation was rampant.

Her seemingly defiant tone echoed in his ears, "I don't wanna go back," and in an instant, his traitorous hands reacted, moving of their own accord, gently cupping her neck and side. His movements were achingly slow at first, for neither wanted to rush the moment. A soft brush – his nose against hers – rooted them, before he slid his arms around her back. Again his hand moved of its own volition, desperate to weave itself in her hair. He deftly released the last few buttons of her shirt, and _those hands_ grabbed her lapels, tenderly bringing her forward.

Resting her palms on his bare chest, Andy allowed herself to move toward him – an instant of closeness, their breath mingled together, before he slipped one arm under her knees. Those hands that she had scrutinized and admired for their strength, for the way they steadily held a gun – _Those hands_ lifted her, carried her, and loved her. Those same hands stroked her back in the early morning hours, and those hands dialed her number a few nights later, desperate to touch her again. And two blocks away from the Penny, those hands eagerly reached to lace fingers through hers, as she swung herself into J.D.'s SUV.

His hands were the initiators, it seemed. And now, it was her turn to initiate.

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><p>She walked over to the driver's side of the truck and looked at him pointedly until he grimaced, sliding over into the cab. Her left hand slammed the door, then grasped the wheel, as her right hand moved instinctively toward him.<p>

Her keen eyes, sharpened by months on the force, took in every gash, scrape, and visible bruise, as she carefully lifted his injured hand. Inspecting it closely, she released the bulky brace and then met his eyes, swallowing hard. He offered a tentative smile in return, eyes crinkling and shoulders shrugging. They would have all the time in the world for a heavy conversation about Brennan, his injuries, and their suspensions. Tonight, each was the other's focus. They were both safe and alive and mercifully together.

As she moved to pull away from the curb, Andy exhaled deeply, releasing a breath she didn't know had caught in her throat. This time, it was her hand that moved without conscious deliberation, and her fingers cautiously settled on his.

For the first time that evening, a genuine smile broke out on Sam's face, and he caught her eye. She grinned briefly in return, flipping her hair behind her as she released the emergency brake. "We're partners, so you back me up, no matter what. Don't move unless I tell you to; it may be your truck, but you're injured, so tonight, my rules are _the_ rules… I did not ask to fall for another officer, but for the record, I _would_ like to be someone's girlfriend, and I _will_ be holding your hand."

She quirked an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth pulled, as his right hand moved to settle on their joined fingers. There it was – that warm, familiar pressure. For tonight, it was enough.

"How's that for normal?"

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><p><strong>Reviews – even a word or two – would mean the world! I love all SamAndy interaction, but for some reason, the scenes in 1x07 are some of my favorites. No, not the apartment scenes (insert requisite whoops and hollers), but the scene where Sam finds Andy, gun in hand, paralyzed by what she has just done. The locker room conversation afterward is brilliant.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I couldn't resist adding another reflection, this time from Sam's perspective. I'm curious to find out if others viewers – like me – were a bit bewildered by 2x13, when Sam exits the house after the torture/fight scenes. He and Andy have a very emotional exchange, but (perhaps intentionally) it is difficult to decipher. Inferences – many; conclusions – none. The following is my interpretation. Read on and let me know what you think!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue, but I do own two arms – They would gladly give Sam a hug as he stepped off Maggie Wilder's porch.**

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><p>She had a lion's heart.<p>

He's not sure when he first realized it. Perhaps it was the first day, when she mistakenly arrested him, effectively blowing eight months of undercover work. She wouldn't let him wallow, either. No, she forcibly questioned him in the locker room, intent on capturing the shooter.

Fresh out of the Academy, she was consumed by the drive "to serve and protect." The signs were all there on Day Two. Her concern for Emily was commendable; few cops – and rookies at that – would dwell on the safety of one girl who had the misfortune of being employed by Anton Hill. Her desire to protect took precedence, prompting her to follow him to the parking lot of the Black Penny. Shift may have been over, but her concern didn't have an "off" switch. That should have been his first clue. She had a compassionate heart, through and through.

As they continued to work together, he learned more and more about Andy McNally. Not just Andy McNally, Rookie. Not Andy, daughter of Tommy McNally. He learned about Andy McNally, Person. Partner. Officer of 15th Division. Generous Woman, Unconvincing Prostitute, and Stubborn Mule.

That's what made it interesting. She surprised him at every turn.

He witnessed it, time and time again: Her warm heart took the oath to protect very seriously. Coupled with her copper instincts, that heart helped them solve countless cases. She wasn't willing to believe Dhara stole that ice cream truck simply to get attention, and who knows? Without her efforts, perhaps more teenage girls would have been victims. After the shooting that claimed the life of Kate, an innocent college student, she refused to abandon the investigation until justice was served. She placed her own injury on the back-burner, and no words of wisdom or experience could placate her. The grief she suffered, the helplessness she felt – that was more painful than any physical bruise from a stray bullet.

The list went on: Benny. He was just a kid, really, trying to do right with what he had. She saved his life, only to learn the harsh reality of "witness" versus "evidence." There was that stint at Patrick Murphy's club. She quickly acclimated to her undercover role as a waitress, simply because she could empathize with the bartender. Something about a classic Scorpio? He couldn't remember the exact phrasing. And then there was the laundry mat. She ran into that damn firetrap, exposed beams and burned wreckage be damned, all for the sake and safety of a distraught wife. She sat for hours with a hysterical woman and the charred remains of the late husband, and yet Andy kept her cool. Most recently, of course, was the car accident and the subsequent explosion. She refused to leave that woman, Leslie Atkins, pinned beneath the steering wheel. Instead, she risked her own life to pull Leslie to safety.

Naturally, there was one incident that hit home for Sam. Even deep cover couldn't hide her heart. Officer McNally, not Edie, had walked away from Ricky in the Mermaid Lounge. She turned her back on an armed individual, and she walked away – a cardinal sin in the world of law enforcement – to save him. It was because of that lion's heart that his own heart was still beating. She saved his skin and risked her own life to do so.

A lion's heart. It was one of things he loved – yes, loved – about her, but it was also one of the things that frustrated, exasperated, and worried him to no end.

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><p>Lions were fierce. They growled. They clawed. They fought to protect all that they loved. They didn't back down, and in the heat of the moment, they didn't hold back.<p>

Maybe that was why the burden lay so heavily on his shoulders. Because of their relationship – because of him – she had been forced, for the first time, to hold back.

When he exited the Wilder property, his eyes immediately sought McNally. She was there, in uniform, standing in front of the cruiser. More importantly, she was unharmed. Brennan had been telling the truth about that, at least.

He kept his gaze locked on her face as relief coursed through his body. For the first time since Oliver burst through that door, he drew a breath and the oxygen finally seemed to reach his brain. His mind went into cop mode, and his penetrating gaze read her tells, as easily as he might at a poker table.

He could see the emotions broadcasted on her face: Relief, mirroring his own. Then sorrow. Choking, agonizing sorrow. His eyes absorbed as much as they could, before he was forced to look away. Because in an instant, he realized _why_ she was standing outside the house. Orders had been handed down, and she was not allowed to participate in the raid _because of him_. His body, slowed by injury, vaguely registered disbelief. The knowledge of her immobility nearly brought him to his knees, packing as much vicious power as one of Brennan's punches. It had come to this.

She had taken a backseat, for him. She was unable to perform her job, _because she chose him_. Their relationship compromised McNally's ability to serve and _protect_. Lions weren't supposed to hold back when hell broke loose in the jungle. Lions were supposed to be leading the charge. Lions were ferocious and dangerous when it came to things they loved, things that by nature, they were sworn to protect.

And here she was, standing, looking sorrowfully _at him_? He read the anguish in her eyes, although the dark blue uniform expressly forbade her from revealing emotion. The guilt he felt was overwhelming, stifling, and he had to move quickly around her.

He couldn't bear for her to see him like this. She shouldered her own guilt, no doubt, but it was nothing compared to the self-loathing that lay in the pit of his stomach, overwhelming in potency. He was her training officer, damn it. How could he have been so stupid? _You didn't think, Sammy. You put yourself first, and look where that got you_.

There were no mirrors in sight, but if he had to venture a guess, he looked like hell… and that was putting it mildly. His temple was throbbing, and while the blood no longer dripped steadily down his face, he could feel the harsh prickle of the wind irritating his open wounds. To top it off, sharp, shooting pain was currently working its way up the length of his arm. He didn't even want to think about the bones in his hand. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Perhaps it was better to dwell on the physical pain than the emotional pain.

After hours of near-darkness, his eyes could barely make out the radius of flashing police lights. He stumbled after Noelle and Oliver. He couldn't have a conversation with McNally – not here, not now. One word to her would have obliterated the restraint to which he was desperately cleaving.

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><p>Realistically, they would have to talk about it – where their relationship would go from here. For now, he was content in the passenger seat of his truck. Her feisty nature had temporarily eased the tension in his shoulders. Of course she would bully him, playing to his obvious handicap, if only to assume the driver's seat for one night. The teasing was light, but much-needed, and much-appreciated. <em>The lengths to which this girl would go<em>…

He chalked it up to her lion's heart.

When lions love, they love. And he – Well, he was one lucky bastard.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled onto his street. Parallel parking was a bitch, especially in the snow, but it gave them another good laugh before they exited the truck. She bounded forward, keys in hand, in an effort to unlock the door quickly and prevent any unnecessary snowfall from entering. His mouth tugged slightly, observing her, and in an instant, the emotion of the evening leaked out. As she fiddled with the deadbolt, he called to her, his voice a mere whisper above the swirling wind.

"An-Andy."

She turned, concerned by the falter in his speech. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip, and for a moment, Sam was frozen, trapped by the anxious light in her eyes.

"Is it your hand? Did you – "

"No, I – I'm okay. I just – "

He hesitated on the porch step, exhaling deeply.

"Thank you, Andy. For tonight. For… everything."

He reached forward, and with one hand, he slowly dragged her away from the door. His good arm wrapped around her back, pulling her tightly toward his chest. Warmth spread through his body, and he cleared his throat, fighting a losing battle against the emotion that threatened to escape. Briefly, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. One more tight squeeze, one more exhale, and he released her.

For a moment, she was perfectly still. An endearing vision, he thought: Closed eyes, mussed hair, scarf threatening to blow away in the bitter Toronto air. She was real, and she was here. He was her rock, and she was every bit his.

As they stood on the porch, the words from that tragic afternoon in the rec center echoed in their ears. This time, however, it was Andy to offer the calm reassurance, and she chose a very specific pronoun.

"We're okay, Sam. _We're_ okay."

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><p><strong>Thoughts? Suggestions? Itching for another reflection or is that enough for our favorite couple? (It's been a grueling evening for Sam and Andy.) Please review and let me know!<strong>


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